On the Brink of Tears

by Peter Rimmer

  “At least Tinus and Andre are here. We’d better go up,” said William. “Hello! Anyone home?”

  The big double door was wide open. They walked through into the old house, Janet pushing the pram the two men had lifted up the steps to the terrace. Harry was wide awake but not making a sound.

  “A bloody great house and not a soul,” said William as they walked on through the familiar house and out to the lawn at the back. Having been told to bring their tennis rackets, they walked through the trees that sprinkled the large lawn to the tennis courts William had played on before. No one was there. A bridle path along the side of the tennis courts led into the woods and hills beyond.

  “Horses. I smell horse dung. They’ve all gone off riding on the heath.”

  “Tina doesn’t ride.”

  “Gone to the village to get something. She does her own shopping,” said Horatio. “Doesn’t trust the staff with money. Says she saved Harry twenty pounds a week running the house herself.”

  “And then spends two hundred quid in Selfridges, or with her favourite dress designer. The place is set up for tennis. Someone has put up the nets on both courts and the grass has been cut this morning.”

  “It’s going to rain,” said Janet. “Those dark clouds just behind the house look menacing. Let’s go back to the house. We’ll go to the kitchen and make some tea. Why is it everything about this place looks old? From the big gnarled trees to that Greek statue.”

  “Because it is old, darling. Does he need feeding? How do you know it’s Greek?”

  “Not yet. I’m hungry,” said Janet. “Every time I go into the country it makes me hungry. There’s a similar statue on the front lawn of the chemistry lab at Harrow school; I was told it was Greek. How much do you think it costs to run a place like this?”

  “We’ll never have to find out unless I write a book like Bruno Kannberg at the Mirror,” said Horatio. “Word has it they’ll sell millions of copies in America.”

  “They won’t sell one copy from what I hear,” said William. “The British establishment clam up in the face of scandal. Kannberg will find himself in trouble, trying to rock the boat. They don’t like washing upper-crust dirty linen in public. Edward forsaking the throne for the woman he loves is one thing the British public can swallow and leave the Royals intact. All that nonsense about the Mitford girls who some say visited Hitler with a message from Edward won’t wash in public even if it is true. An English gentleman excuses himself politely when he’s in a mess and buggers off.”

  “William! Harry can’t speak properly but he can hear perfectly well. Don’t swear. It doesn’t sound nice.”

  “Sorry, Janet. A slip of an old scribe’s tongue. You really think young Harry can understand at one year old? We’ve got a genius in the making.”

  “How do you know what’s in it, Will?”

  “He’s sent ten copies to various publishers. Chap at Longman gave me a ring. He knew I had my eye on Genevieve’s welfare and didn’t want to hurt her sales with her ghostwriter making an ass of himself. Told me to have a quiet word with Kannberg, who of course isn’t English and wouldn’t understand. He’s Russian or Latvian or something. How can a man be both Russian and Latvian for God’s sake?”

  “There are ethnic Russians living in Latvia where his father comes from. His father fought for the White Russian army against the communists, and when they lost he brought his family to England.”

  “Even more reason to be grateful.”

  “Have you had a word with Kannberg?”

  “Not yet. Cranthorpe only phoned last night. His editor had had a call from someone important. That someone Cranthorpe wouldn’t name, wants the book stopped. The Mirror thinks I can help. They must get information from the man they can publish or they wouldn’t bother.”

  “Why not help Kannberg write the book and make a fortune together? There are many ways of saying something without being obvious. The reader picks it up. Makes the book more intriguing if it’s a bit mysterious. So you haven’t actually read the book, Will?”

  “Not yet… Here comes someone.”

  “And here comes the rain,” said Janet. “We’d better run for the house. Just look at Harry. He’s laughing his head off.”

  “Probably at Kannberg’s book… You did say he could hear, just not speak properly. It’s raining cats and dogs. We really do have a lousy climate. Must have been a servant. Bolted back into the old house. We’re going to get soaking wet and our cases are still in the courtyard or whatever they call the acre of gravel in front of the house. Run for it! Push, Janet! Harry’s the only one not getting wet with the hood up.”

  “Why, he’s laughing.”

  “Here comes the rest of them. I hear galloping horses.”

  Laughing hysterically, they all ran towards the shelter of the house. Then the horses broke out of the woods and everyone was waving, Horatio recognising the man who had saved his life in Germany, the man Janet wanted to thank to his face for making her family possible, her happiness, what she liked to call the whole purpose of her life.

  They found their suitcases in the hall. On top of Janet’s was a picture hat with a small bunch of imitation grapes on the side. Everything was dry. Their raincoats and William’s rolled umbrella were also on top of the cases.

  “Servants must have brought them into the house,” said Horatio.

  “Sorry you also got wet,” said Harry Brigandshaw striding down the hall, his hand held out to William who was nearest. “Welcome to Hastings Court. The others have gone up to their rooms to change. You can dry your clothes out in the hot cupboard that houses the hot water tank. The boiler in the basement keeps the water hot all day… More like an April shower. I never get used to the unpredictability of the English weather. Where are your tennis rackets? No matter, the grass court is soaked and unplayable for today and tomorrow.

  “Let me have a look at my namesake. He has grown. Look at those big eyes. He’s going to bowl the girls over when he’s older. Janet, you look wonderful despite being wet. There are towels in your rooms. Come on, I’ll take you up. The hot cupboard, which is really a small room, is next to the second floor bathroom. Do you know there are only three bathrooms in this entire house, all with baths, not one shower. Two for the family and guests, one for the servants. No wonder the English only bath once a week. In Africa I took a shower every day. Sometimes two when I came in from the lands. Mostly my thirst took me straight to a cold beer. You take your cases and I’ll carry Janet’s. What a lovely summer hat.

  “Later, you two can take Klaus aside and thank him. It’s so nice to see my old friends again. They spent part of their honeymoon on Elephant Walk where we got to know each other as friends and not enemies. By 1921 the war had been over for three years. Being in Africa helped. Believe it or not, Tinus my nephew says he remembers Klaus and Bergit. He couldn’t have been more than four years old. Remembers the Germans spoke perfect English. The things children take in when they are young. The Catholics say give them a child up to the age of ten and the child will always remain a Catholic.

  “I hoped young Erwin would have come over with his parents but he’s attending a summer camp with his school friends arranged by the government. All young friends together, so Klaus and Bergit came alone. Andre and Tinus have hit it off with Klaus like a house on fire, all being pilots. All they talk about is aeroplanes. Civilian aeroplanes. The Imperial Airways flying boats that fly passengers from London to the Cape landing on the Nile, the African Great Lakes and the Zambezi above the Victoria Falls. My idea of course. Nearly cost me my life. I still think sadly of Iggy Bowes-Lyon; his cousin Elizabeth is now Queen of England since the abdication. They went for help after we hit a submerged hippo coming into land. Never found a trace of them. I had to stay with the other chap who was paralysed, only able to get myself out when he died. But you all remember that. It was how we all met, you two journalists on my story with that chap Kannberg from the Mirror. They tell me the book he wrote for Genevieve is
selling like hot cakes. I thought I’d ask cook to make up some packed lunches now we can’t play tennis. Go up on the heath. The children have haversacks we can borrow to carry our lunch and the flasks of tea.”

  “Where are the children?” asked Janet.

  “With their mother in the village, I expect. There’s a teashop where Tina likes to natter. She knows everyone in the village. The children get bored here on their own without friends. In the village they find things to do. Listening to me and Klaus talking about old times bored them to tears I should think. If you want to come, Janet, you can leave young Harry with cook. She’ll love it. Mrs Craddock loves children and I’d trust her with my life. Just remember, no politics. We don’t want the von Liebermans to feel uncomfortable, despite your strong feelings about the German government. I listen every week to your talk on the BBC Empire Service, William. Do you really think the Americans want us out of the colonies? Who’s going to run the countries? Stop them scratching each other’s eyes out? It’s either the Matabele wanting to dominate the Shona in Rhodesia or the Hindus arguing with the Muslims in India. If the British get out, who’s going to keep the peace, build the railway lines and maintain the rule of law? Anyway, I’m not a politician or journalist. I always thought the Americans were our cousins, despite a few spats in the past. If King George the Second had spoken English and not German, America would likely still be part of the Commonwealth like Canada, Australia, New Zealand and South Africa. We’re all English-speaking. All have Anglo-Saxon roots… There you are. That room is for Janet, Horatio and my namesake. That one is yours, William. Get out of those wet clothes before you catch a cold. You know where to hang the wet clothes. You can leave the pram where it is downstairs. Tina put all the paraphernalia for young Harry in your room, Janet. Cot, playpen, that sort of thing that we leave to the women. I’m off to change into dry clothes though I’m used to getting wet; in the Congo during my captivity we didn’t have much to change into, though it was a lot warmer I suppose. Amazing how the past fades from the mind. My Tutsi friends seem a lifetime ago. I hope they are all all right and not started a war with the Hutu tribe with the guns I sent them in exchange for my freedom.”

  An hour later Harry and his houseguests assembled in the drawing room. Everyone was wearing dry clothes, with Andre dressed in an old hacking jacket Tinus had left behind on a previous visit, giving Harry no surprise when he remembered the small size of Andre’s suitcase. Tina and the children had not come back from the village. Young Harry, back in his pram, was the centre of attention while Harry went around serving his favourite South African sherry, something he knew would please Andre Cloete. Bergit had been formally introduced to the Wakefields after Horatio emotionally shook Klaus’s hand.

  “We were in two minds whether to call him Klaus or Harry,” said Janet to Bergit, whose finger was being held firmly by young Harry as he glugged with pleasure at all the attention. “If this one is a boy,” said Janet putting her hands on her extended belly, “we will call him Klaus, with your permission, Herr von Lieberman. If the child is a girl, Bergit, in honour of the wonderful help your husband gave my husband in those terrible circumstances to remind us all how lucky we are when we look back on life. I told him at the time to stay in England. People can do a lot of harm meddling in other people’s business, though journalists never take that kind of advice. I am so happy to meet you both, you have no idea.”

  “Either way, Klaus or Bergit will be a great honour,” said Klaus von Lieberman, bowing formally to Janet. “I propose a toast to the arrival of a healthy boy or a healthy girl. Harry was telling me you are a speech therapist specialising in curing the stutter. That you have an appointment to Harrow School. I have a cousin with a terrible stammer when he has to speak in public. He is General Werner von Lieberman’s eldest son. Could you cure him, Mrs Wakefield?”

  “Of course I can try. Stutters are in the mind as much as the cleft palate, which is mostly the cause of speech impediment. It is important to enunciate from the tip of the tongue. Can he speak English?”

  “All well-educated Germans speak English. Henning spent a year at the London School of Economics after Heidelberg. Many an Englishman has attended our university at Heidelberg as a postgraduate. Germany and England have been leaders in education for centuries. I will speak to my cousin.”

  Watching the interchange of polite conversation, Harry was puzzled by the look that had hovered for a brief second in the eyes of his old friend when Klaus had suggested sending his cousin to England; the look was a mixture of cunning and relief. As if Klaus had found a way out of a corner. The look put Harry on his guard for the first time in the visit. ‘There’s always more than meets the eye,’ he told himself wearily as he walked back to the small cocktail cabinet to pick up the bottle of sherry and fill up the glasses. If only Tina would live in Africa!... Outside on the gravel he heard the car coming back, followed by slammed car doors that made him grit his teeth. The children were shouting excitedly at each other, something they did most of the time; slamming car doors and yelling as loud as possible was at the top of their pleasures, however much he complained. Then he heard Tina’s voice and smiled. Despite their problems it was always nice to have her home, to hear her voice; Harry liked being a family man.

  “My wife’s back,” said Harry cheerfully, offering them the new bottle of sherry.

  “One’s enough for me if we’re going for a hike,” said Bergit, who still had her index finger gripped by the baby; the sight of the small child in the pram had made her broody for grandchildren, the sound of happy children outside music to her ears. Dogs were barking at the children. The cat on the sofa woke up and narrowed its eyes at the sound of the dogs. An elderly woman wearing an apron came into the room.

  “I’ve put the lunch in three of the children’s haversacks in the hall. Those who want must add sugar to the tea. Will that be all, Mr Brigandshaw? Mrs Brigandshaw is back with the children.”

  “Thank you, Mrs Craddock. Is it going to rain?”

  “Not this afternoon. Mrs Brigandshaw says she will stay with the children and Beth will look after young Harry.”

  It was more of a stroll than a hike with Tinus, Andre and William carrying the packs. On the surface everything looked normal to William, but underneath something was wrong. After years of finding out what was going on, it seemed to William that Herr von Lieberman had something to hide. In contrast to his wife the man was tense and uncomfortable, not the relaxed friend he was trying to portray to Harry Brigandshaw. Horatio, in William’s opinion, had made an ass of himself grovelling to the man who had got him out of Germany as a favour to Harry Brigandshaw. The German’s wife was relaxed but had William written a story of the two enemies becoming friends, he would have described the two men as walking on glass, as if both of them knew something was going to break; Germany and England were far too close to war for all the frivolous banter going on between the two men.

  Mentally shrugging his shoulders, William trudged along next to Janet.

  “Why would a German want to come to England to cure a stammer?” William said quietly in her ear.

  “Polite conversation, William. Herr von Lieberman’s way of putting me at ease.”

  “The man’s a wolf in sheep’s clothing.”

  “How can you say that after what he did for Horatio?”

  “The uncle, General Werner von Lieberman, is a Nazi. His son is also in the party.”

  “You journalists always see the worst in people. Without that man up ahead my son would never have been born. You think Harry will be all right with Beth?”

  “She’s twelve years old and likes playing mother. Tina and Mrs Craddock will keep an eye on her. You worry too much, Janet. You shouldn’t worry so much. What I find strange is those two men up ahead once chased each other round the sky firing machine guns at each other. Can bitter enemies ever be friends? If I were you, Janet, I’d think up other names for your baby than Klaus and Bergit. Once the child is christened it’s stuck w
ith the name for the rest of its life. My question is simple: why’s he come to England all of a sudden? Or, more importantly, who told him to come?”

  Harry Brigandshaw held back to give himself distance. Klaus was talking to Horatio. Nearer, Andre was telling Bergit all about South Africa where she had visited on her way through to Rhodesia on her honeymoon. William had been giving him queer looks which he ignored; all the man ever wanted to talk about was Genevieve. Tinus was out on a limb, not wishing or able to join Andre in his conversation with Bergit. Ever since his mother’s letter from Elephant Walk, Harry had wanted to talk to his nephew at a time when they found themselves alone. The dogs were far out on the flanks, coursing the gentle slope of Headley Heath. Mrs Craddock had been right about the weather; the sun came in and out of the clouds. Far away towards Epsom Downs Harry could see the slant of a rain shower onto the race course. Then he watched Tinus break from the side of Andre, walking back down the hill towards him with a smile on his face.

  “It’s just so great to have Andre back in England,” said Tinus as he turned in step with his uncle, the two of them walking slowly side by side away from the others.

  “You’re both lucky. I had a letter last week from my mother. Your grandmother says you have no plans to go home before you finish Oxford, that the farm is short of money with the slump in the price of tobacco, which is why I want you to go to Elephant Walk on your next vacation to write me a report. By now you should know what you are talking about. Good farming is one part of the equation; making a profit from the farm quite another. Tina won’t let me go or I would do it myself. I will write to Ralph Madgwick and explain you are my envoy and that all of us are on the same side. For years I have thought of placing a major dam across the Mazoe River to give us irrigation water right across the farm and stop the risk of bad rains ruining the crops once and for all. I have an idea to grow thousands of acres of citrus, extracting the fruit juice for export back to England. Somewhere I read that people who make perfume use the oil in the peel of an orange as a base for some of their perfumes.